


The weird, whacky food of Good Mythical Morning finally catches up with them spectacularly.

by tndrgay



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Sickfic, tw for vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tndrgay/pseuds/tndrgay
Summary: Surely this year has sucked enough without jamming his head in the toilet bowl and giving him a wedgie at the same time.Apparently not.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin & Link Neal
Kudos: 8





	The weird, whacky food of Good Mythical Morning finally catches up with them spectacularly.

**Author's Note:**

> (˘･_･˘) Friendly reminder that this is an anonymous, no-judgment kink account where I write for prompts that have been sent to me. If you don't like a fic, please remember: Your Kink Is Not My Kink And That's Okay. Just exit out of the page and move on. (˘･_･˘)

There’s not many times in his life that Link’s thought he’s gonna die, but this is definitely one of these times. Which, if that’s how it’s gotta go then that’s how it’s gotta go- he can square away with that, but now then they’re about to go and do their first VidCon after Quarantine, _please_?!

Surely this year has sucked enough without jamming his head in the toilet bowl and giving him a wedgie at the same time.

Apparently not.

Link rolls his eyes at himself and turns over onto his other side, which allows him the dim and blurry view of Rhett in the bed across the room from him, sleeping soundly and odd strands of hair catching the light of the digital alarm clock on the bedside table. Link thumps his head on the pillow. Trying to count sheep over the scent of unfamiliar laundry detergent. The quicker he goes to sleep, the sooner he wakes up, the sooner he gets on stage for their live _Will it Black Pudding?_ episode. The sooner he gets there, the sooner it’s all over.

Once it’s over he might dance a jig on the ugly orange rug in the middle of their hotel room. If he feels well enough.

Reminded of the reason why he’s unable to sleep, he rolls back onto his other side again. Tries to go to sleep again. Spends another hour like that, until it’s somewhere between one and three and their live show seems far too close for comfort. Maybe he should wake Rhett. Only…

He doesn’t wake Rhett. He’s fully aware he probably _should_ , but what would he even _say_? _Sorry to wake you up, buddy, but I wanna go home because I’ve had a stomach ache for the last few days_. Well, looking back maybe more than a few days, but whatever. Link’s not entirely convinced it isn’t just nerves, anyway, and he _knows_ he’s always viewed as the more cautious and timid one of them, thank you very much. The more annoying one.

How annoyed would people be to put all this effort into coming to VidCon to see them, than have it all ruined because of him? They’d be more than annoyed- they’d be _upset_. Link doesn’t want to do that to their fans. To the Mythical Beasts who make GMM happen.

Pushing through it is then.

If only it was just the pain. If only it was just the ache. If only he didn’t also feel like throwing up at random times, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad and be more bearable. Even just thinking is causing his head to hurt and making him wanna throw up the dinner he didn’t eat.

With new resolve, he rolls to face Rhett again and buries his face in the pillow. This time he’s gonna get to sleep. He _has_ to.

***

“Wow, buddy, you look like you didn’t sleep at all. You good?”

Link breathes in, breathes out without screaming. “Sure,” he smiles. “Just… nervous. Aren’t you?”

Rhett shrugs, diving into his cereal with the enthusiasm he had as a ten-year-old. “It’s just the same as any ‘Will It’ video, we can just see the audience now.” Which means he’s not nervous at all; and he’s using that soft tone of voice when he’s trying to be soothing and kind whilst not addressing the issue directly all at the same time. There’s been very few times in his life where that tone of voice hasn’t instantly made him feel better and this is one of them. He hides it, though. Pours himself coffee and pours Rhett coffee, trying to tune out the clatter of other hotel guests in the dining room and pretend it’s just to two of them at home preparing to go to work and shoot a video.

The smell of coffee makes his stomach curdle so bad he doesn’t dare try to join Rhett in eating.

Rhett notices. (Damn it.) He leans closer with a frown, on the pretence of reaching for the milk he could have just asked him to pass instead. “Ain’t you hungry?”

Link gives an exaggerated shudder, wrinkling his nose and squinting, ignoring how it makes the floor start spinning under his sneakers. “We’re about to eat shark, Rhett.” They fall- somehow- into their easy banter and Link is aware that his friend is covering for him and doing most of the work and is grateful, glad to be free to just float on a pale grey sea of chatter and keep awareness out of it until his feet are hitting the steps up to the stage.

There’s a million cameras on them. He feels kinda like he might pass out, or cry, unsure which’d be worse. _Sixty minutes_ he gives himself a mental pep-talk as they wave to people and sit at their chairs in the little studio set that’d been mocked up. _Sixty minutes and you’re all done_.

Link sits down and braces himself for the longest sixty minutes of his life.

***

“Buddy roll?”

Link shoves the bathroom door closed with his foot, barely having enough time to get his head back over the toilet before he’s retching again, trying to lose what’s left of his intestines and trying not to die. The smell is horrendous, even though he’s already puked up everything he ate during the episode backstage. The smell is so bad it makes his eyes water, blocking out what little view he’s adored of the pristine white floor tiles and making him dizzy until he’s heaving again, gagging on the taste hanging at the back of his throat.

“Link?” The door opens and hits his feet- why did the door open, he shut it? “Aw, buddy,” soft words drop into the spaces between heaves like counting the beats between thunder and just when he thinks he’s going to fall headfirst into the toilet there’s a red hot hand on his back, rubbing all over in small circles and keeping him upright.

…Which means Rhett can smell _it_ too.

“’M sorry,” Link wheezes, glad his glasses have steamed up to obscure his tears. The corner of a towel is wiped over his face and his stomach sinks, but not in the same way it has been for the past few days.

“What for?”

“R-ruined your day.”

There’s a brief silence in which his breathing sounds wet against the bathroom tiles, then whilst wringing out a towel over the sink Rhett says, “No, you ain’t.”

“You sure about that?”

What else _is_ this, if not ruining someone’s plans for the day? Rhett has wanted to walk round VidCon after their turn on stage; see panels and people and eat junk food and be glad 2020 is all over. Link flinches as his glasses are carefully slid off his face, then put back on a few seconds later all clean and clear. The tenderness in the gesture gets him all teary-eyed and they start steaming up all over again- yeah, he’s made an absolute mess of everything for Rhett, hasn’t he?

_“You haven’t_ ,” Rhett repeats forcefully.

Link frowns, _I said that out loud?_

From somewhere far above his head, Rhett’s voice is murmuring to him softly. He catches ‘bed’ and recognises how cold he is on the floor- he just doesn’t think he has any strength left to get up. “Just… gimme one more minute?” he pleads, gripping the edge of the toilet bowl in fear of one last wave and resigning himself to the fact that he _has_ to get up, else Rhett might try to carry him and hurt his back.

Hands push his hair away from his face, “Sure, bo. Take as long as you need.”

One, two, _three_ \- Link pushes to his feet and gets halfway and has to let Rhett do the rest. Whilst he’s blinking away the vertigo, the toilet flushes and pain enters the rest of his body again. “Shit,” he groans, staying doubled over and wrapping his arms round his waist. He’s genuinely frightened that if he stands up the pain might tear him in half.

“Nearly there,” Rhett’s hand grabs his shoulder and keeps him upright, but the world still keeps spinning. “I think you’re starting to get dehydrated, Link.”

Probably. After… four? Five days? Probably. Oh, shit, he said that out loud again, didn’t he? _Gotta stop_ doing _that, Link!_

Rhett’s voice, when he speaks again, is dangerously low, “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

He hasn’t got an answer for that. not one Rhett’d appreciate, anyway.

“You should’ve told me.”

As the ache in his guts adds another coal to the fire, Link acknowledges that yeah, he probably should have. “Wasn’t so bad, before. Didn’t wanna cancel anything for…. for…”

“You should’ve told me,” he says for a second time. Link nods, and the movement makes him sway queasily again. “Whoah, okay- okay. Let’s get you into bed, huh?”

Bed sounds like the greatest suggestion of his life and he wobbles forward until his socks touch soft carpet instead of tiles. Rhett’s hand steers him like a ship’s rudder until his knees knock into the mattress and he sinks gratefully into a less vertical position.

In the open crack between his eyelids a trashcan appears by the bedside table, then a dark shadow pulls the covers up to his chin and sits on the bed beside him. Link feels the mattress dip and he curls into the warmth. He flinches when Rhett reaches over to feel his forehead, the familiar smell of his friend and the unfamiliar smell of hotel room washing powder mixing together to pull his stomach up to hover dangerously in the back of his throat.

Rhett pauses as he’s wiggling his glasses off, “You gonna-?”

Link considers it, then swallows the feeling down. It makes his stomach hurt some more. “No,” he croaks in lieu of shaking his head.

“Okay.” His hand rests on his back again and he relaxes just the tiniest increment. Rhett lets the silence go on like that for a while, allows him to warm up in the rectangle of sun shining through the window. _Then_ he strikes. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“ _No_.” He feels so dirty, he wants to brush his teeth. They feel almost furry. “Jus’ a bug. I’ll be fine.”

He feels Rhett’s laugh, rumbling like thunder before a storm; wonders if it means something. “You call this fine?”

Oh, okay, they’re doing this now, are they? Okay. Link blinks as much of his consciousness together in one place. “’M sorry. Just… I didn’t wanna ruin everything.”

He sighs, shifting closer and this thumb rubbing in tiny circles where his hand sits. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I should have noticed. Should have pushed you on it.”

Despite the pain building within, from his waist and moving higher and higher, Link manages to grin, “Well if both of us are wrong, does that mean technically neither of us are wrong?”

His stupid logic earns him a laugh and a rueful shake of the head, “Okay, sure.”

The smile on Rhett’s face doesn’t make him feel better- really, it doesn’t, he feels awful- but it does make him happy, made him smile back, in spite of it all. Everything’s better when you’ve got your best buddy with you.


End file.
